Princess Luna, Goddess of the Hunt

Our first disagreement came over her name. I had always wanted a Siamese cat whom I could name after the one in the movie Bell, Book, and Candle. Not that Luna looked or acted like Pyewacket. I’m pretty sure Pye was a purebred chocolate point, while Luna was a mix of lilac point and tortoiseshell, which might have accounted for her not being cross-eyed or hugely talkative. Still, Luna was probably going to be my only shot at having a Siamese cat in my lifetime, so I really wanted to rename her. Alas, she was having none of it. “Luna is my name!” is what I heard emphatically in my head. Okay. . .first battle lost.

Next came the issue of whether or not she would be going outside. In order to adopt her, I had to promise to keep her an indoor cat. I already had another cat who wasn’t allowed outside because of her tiny size and the fact that, after a couple of years of seizures, she had become deaf and so less able to defend herself. The compromise was that I had a nice, large screened in porch with bird feeders all around so they could both enjoy the benefits of being outside while avoiding the inherent dangers of living in a woodsy area. Alas, Luna was very clear about wanting to go outside: she would find or create a hole in the screen which allowed her to sneak out. After plugging about five of these holes, I gave in and created one which would be her way in and out, while keeping intruders from coming in. I just hoped that RastaFyre would remain content on the porch.

The next disagreement came over her hunting prowess: one day she proudly brought me a dead bird and it was just sheer luck that I didn’t step on it in bare feet. Now, I happen to know that domesticated house cats are largely responsible for the decline in the songbird population; on the other hand, it was clear that Luna wanted to be at least partially an outdoor cat. (She actually told me this later in our relationship when I asked both of my cats what they would like to have happen in the event that I could no longer care for them. Without any hesitation Luna answered: I want to go where there are no children and I can go outside.) So, it was time for another conversation.

“Okay, Luna. I acknowledge you as a brilliant huntress and dub thee Princess Luna, Goddess of the Hunt. However, I would really appreciate it if you would leave the birds alone and focus on things like mice, especially the ones inside the house. When you are outdoors, maybe you could keep pests out of the garden.” Luna purred loudly; I think she got the message, and was particularly pleased with her title. As if to put an exclamation point on the understanding, she brought me a dead mouse the next morning, for which I praised her profusely. After that, there came, albeit sporadically, a few more mice, but never any birds. Until. . .

One day I came home to find Luna eyeing some of my neighbors’ chickens who had made their way into my flower garden, no doubt drawn to the bird seed which would occasionally fall from the bird feeders. It was time for another chat.

“I saw you looking at those chickens. You should know that, as far as I am concerned, they are in the bird family and. . .” Before I could finish, Luna burst in, sounding quite indignant: “I would never hurt a chicken, but you have to understand—they have absolutely no boundaries, and you did ask me to keep pests out of the garden. I was merely going to scare them off.” Indeed, I had asked her to keep intruders out of the garden, so once again I caved.

A few months passed and one day Luna sat on the back porch, meowing loudly. If I had been thinking about it, this was the kind of sound that a lot of cats make when they have something in their mouths, but I was just so startled to hear her vocalizing at all that I ran for the doo and let her in. Immediately I regretted my lapse. In she came with a very large and very upset blue jay in her mouth. And I was about to head out to work.

Luckily it did not take very long to encourage Luna to drop the bird, at which point I scooped her up and thrust her unceremoniously back outside. Alas, Luna was the least of my problems. I have very few doors inside my house, so had no way to sequester the poor, agitated bird to make it easier to capture him (or her, who can tell with jays, unlike cardinals and other birds which have distinct color differences between the sexes).

In any case, I grabbed a lightweight towel and spent the next quarter of an hour trying to throw it over the increasingly frenzied bird. Finally I succeeded. I gently cradled the bundle in my arms and went to the front door, where I set the towel down on a chair and gingerly disentangled the bird from the covering. The second the bird could see daylight, it flew off, far away across the creek, from whence, I assumed, it would never return. Since I was already late from work, I decided to let Luna stew for a while and have another chat with her when I returned home. As if.

That night, after making dinner for Luna and myself, I sat down and waited for her to jump into my lap, which is another source of disagreement—she’s a very forceful, dare I say pushy, cat. “Okay, Luna, once again we need to come to an understanding. When I said I didn’t want you to go after birds any more, I meant all birds, and that blue jay was a bird.” Her response. . .”Well, I know you like that color of blue, and besides. . .I didn’t kill it.” She stalked off. Once again we had reached an understanding—hers.